


The bright-eyed Mariner

by elentari7



Series: The first rule of flying [1]
Category: Firefly, Supernatural
Genre: Cas POV, Dean POV, Firefly!Impala, M/M, Pre-Slash, Secrets everywhere, Shameless use of Firefly canon, Totally legit supply run, also of Rime of the Ancient Mariner, couldn't resist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 04:39:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4291137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elentari7/pseuds/elentari7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel books passage on the series-three Firefly ship Impala out of Persephone, going nowhere in particular. He can't (won't?) tell why. It's his own business.</p><p>Dean and his crew figure the best way to hide some things is in plain sight, until you can get them to Bobby of course. But there's more than one secret to be kept here--seriously, <em>anyone</em> would be stressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The bright-eyed Mariner

**Author's Note:**

> late May, 2522

“You’re looking for this ship.”

Castiel startles—inwardly only, of course. Outwardly his only movement is in his eyes, which snap to the pale redhead in denim who’d picked him out of the bustle of the Eavesdown docks. He's never met her before, but it hadn’t sounded like a question. Castiel doesn’t know what she knows.

She grins. “Good taste.”

At that his brow furrows in puzzlement, though he doesn't drop his guard, because, “A series three Firefly?” Taste is certainly not a compelling reason to examine this ship.

The redhead looks genuinely indignant. “Don’t you knock my girl! She’s sweet as a kitten. And you were the one checking her out.” Her grin returns at that, and Castiel blinks. Is she trying to unbalance him? “Was it the novelty?” she asks. Then she scrunches her nose, considering. “Or the opposite, I guess. How old does something have to get to become a novelty again?” She tosses her bright hair over one shoulder. “Or are you looking for a ride?”

“I am.” He squints up through the bright light of Persephone’s sun glancing off the bulk of the ship, at the shadowed spot where the slot for the starboard shuttle is empty. “What is the name of this ship?”

“This is Impala.” The redhead sits more proudly when she says the name, as if it turns her faded folding chair into a throne. She follows Castiel’s gaze to the empty berth. “Oh, Gabe’ll be back in a bit. He rents it out; kinda a permanent fixture by now. He hasn’t got a des, he’s just along for the ride—well, with his own agenda. And detours, obviously.” She leans closer conspiratorially. “Which usually involve lots of scantily clad women.” A wink. “Drives the captain crazy. I’ve actually heard him yell at Gabe about _stains_.”

Castiel takes a moment to parse the stream of chatter for pertinent information. This woman talks quickly, and, it seems, without much thought. Not a diversionary tactic then, which is refreshing. “The captain’s not here?”

“What? Oh, no, Dean’s—Captain Winchester’s hauling in some cargo. We’re picking up a delivery to Deadwood, and a couple other places along the way.” She bounces to her feet. “But you don’t care about the des. You want this ship.” She’s not wrong, he can’t help but think, if not completely accurate in her reasoning; but her smirk is all pride and no malice. He allows himself to relax. She crosses her arms. “Admit it.”

“I admit it.”

Castiel startles again at her victory whoop. “Good taste, I knew it! Hey Jo!” She turns to call back into the open cargo bay. “New passenger!”

There’s a muffled _thud_ as a blonde woman slides halfway down the stairs, vaults over the railing, and lands on the floor of the cargo bay. She strides down the ramp into the sun, boots thudding again at each step. Her eyes narrow at the sight of Castiel and she opens her mouth, but before she can speak the redhead has caught her by the elbow and is introducing her as “Jo, resident hotshot. And I’m Charlie,” she adds quickly, “sorry, totally skipped that, ship’s mechanic.” Castiel automatically reassesses both women with the new information. They seem very young and slight to be employed in such positions, though Jo’s bare arms are visibly muscular. That, and she has weighted knives strapped to each limb. She won’t be turning her back to him.

“You’re the pilot.” Jo nods in the affirmative, and Charlie pipes up with “Best you’ll find Rim or Core.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Jo informs her, and Charlie bats her eyelashes. Castiel can feel his brow furrow in confusion again. “Did you even ask for _his_ name?”

“Castiel,” he supplies. Charlie gives him a sheepish grin. “Oops,” she says.

“Oops? You were signing on a passenger without Dean and you didn’t even ask his name, and all you’ve got is ‘oops’?”

“I’m sure it was an honest mistake,” Castiel interjects, “Charlie’s been—what is it?” Jo is chortling, whether at him or at Charlie Castiel isn’t sure, and the faint curve of her smile unexpectedly softens her entire face. Charlie elbows her: “Aw, he’s adorable, can we keep him?”

“You should ask the captain.”

“When he gets back! In the meantime we can move Castiel in.” Charlie darts forward to take one of his two bags. “You travel light, don’t you?”

Jo crosses her arms. “You should _ask_ the _captain_.”

Charlie sighs, turns to her pilot. “The captain _wants_ to take passengers here,” she says quietly. “And,” at a more normal volume, “we can always use the pay.” She turns back to Castiel. “You can pay, right?”

“That won’t be a problem,” he assures her, even as Jo eyes his scruffy trench coat dubiously.

“Great! We can replace that hinky compression coil.” Charlie slings Castiel’s bag over her shoulder and heads up the ramp, beckoning him after. Jo runs a hand through her hair, shouts after them to “Just remember the rules!”

“Passengers stick to the passenger areas, yeah yeah,” Charlie throws over her shoulder. “You can do that, right, Castiel? You don’t even have enough stuff to keep in the cargo bay.”

“Your dedication to your captain is admirable,” Castiel tells Jo on his way up the ramp, and she lets out a loud snort.

He’s not sure what he’s getting into here.

 

***

 

“Hey peeps!” Charlie greets them when they trundle up the ramp into the cool shade of the ship’s belly, cargo in tow. Dean can’t help but grin at her, though he can _hear_ Meg’s eye-roll behind him. “Hey, your highness.”

“Does she have an off switch? Or even a lower setting?” Meg drawls. “Her perkiness is giving me migraines, _again_.”

“Civil tongue, Meg,” Dean warns. It’s a rebuke that, in accordance with its effectiveness, is more of an inside joke now than anything; but there’s been a snappish edge to everything he says today.

“I don’ suppose there’s a power in the ‘verse that’ll keep Charlie down,” Benny tells Meg, chuckling at the face she makes. He has the kind of chuckle that invites everyone who hears it to join in, and usually, there are few things that can take Dean’s edge off like a laugh with his best friend. Right now, though, he’s a bundle of stress and guilt, and can’t afford his usual coping mechanism of excessive cheerful recklessness (or booze, thanks a lot, Benny). He doesn’t even manage to return Charlie’s hug, not that that discourages her.

"Meg’s only pretending to be grumpy,” she says over Dean’s shoulder. “She’s only _really_ grumpy when we haven’t got work.”

“Yeah, now I’m just bored.” Meg hefts a crate with Benny and they begin to stack and secure, the clatter of their boots on metal grating (along with their continued banter) echoing from the tall ceiling.

Dean bumps Jo’s shoulder on his way to help. She bumps him back harder. He’s long since stopped wondering why he’s her captain now and yet each childhood routine still ends with her winning every time. (It’s self-preservation, is his reasoning. Escalation with Jo has never been wise.) “The ambassador back yet?” he asks her. Casual.

“Few minutes ago.” She grabs the other side of his crate and helps him haul. “All present and correct, we’ve been waiting on you snails.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

She rolls her eyes at him as they heft the crate into place. He always can count on her to understand gratitude when she sees it. “Start her up for me? Liftoff in five.” All present and correct. Dean’s relief buzzes in his ears as Charlie pounces on him the second he’s crateless and drags him off to the back of the bay. “So. Luck with passengers, then?”

“Yup! Five of ’em, total.”

Dean runs a hand down his face, because they need the cover, need this run to be as above-board as humanly possible, and he knows that. The cargo’s even been legitimately bought and paid for, every last crate. But the last thing he wants to deal with right now is strangers on his boat. Which most definitely isn’t something he should be telegraphing, Winchester, get a grip.

“Captain, Molly and David—don’t be shy, guys, he’s all bark.” Charlie waves a young couple forward out of the common room and into the bay; robust and starry-eyed and hard-working new colonists (Dean knows the look), the woman less stout than the man, but as tall. Charlie bounces on the balls of her feet as Dean puts on a more suitably pleasant expression and shakes both their hands. “They just got married!”

Dean winces at the ensuing cheer from behind him, he needs to fire his whole crew and hire him some freaking professionals, stat, and gives the newlyweds an apologetic grimace. They only giggle, and twine their hands together. David’s other hand comes up to hide his smiling eyes; Molly elbows him and says “Thanks, everybody.” She has a confident and genuine smile. Innocent, honest people. That’s the image they need.

“This is Linda,” Charlie offers with a flourish that covers her nervousness.

“Captain Winchester.” The tiny, crop-haired woman shakes Dean’s hand. He can’t extract it from her grip. He winces. “I’ve been apprised of the particulars of this journey, and assured this is the safest, smoothest passage to Deadwood.”

“You’ve been assured correctly, ma’am.” He flashes his most charming grin, but when he meets her eye he makes sure she sees the dead seriousness underneath. The mess she and her son are in is his mess. He can’t clean it up, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t protect her from it. “It’s a bit of a scenic route, but we’ll give you safe and smooth.”

She nods, and releases his hand, though her eyes stay on him in a piercing gaze that reminds him uncomfortably of Ellen. She’s graceful under pressure—to be honest he’s a little surprised he’s gotten within arm’s reach of her and still has eyes—but there’s more apprising in his near future, he can feel it.

He moves on to her son, taller than she is but slouching nervously at her side. “This is Kevin,” Charlie supplies, and oh how Dean wishes they all didn’t already know. Kevin looks like the feeling is mutual.

But he’s seen what the Alliance did, Dean thinks, shoving away the guilt. He can’t want to go back.

“And this is—come on out here!” The last passenger is still planted in the doorway. He frowns at Charlie: “You said no passengers in the cargo bay.”

Dean would laugh, or maybe groan, but the guy’s voice—about the same octave as the bass thrum of his baby’s engines, and with much more gravel—is so at odds with his rumpled-accountant appearance that it throws him for a loop. Plus, professionalism.

“We trust you not to get up to no good with our cargo with everyone watching you, now come on! Dean, this is Castiel.”

The man steps forward, arms at his sides, eyes on Dean’s. “Dean Winchester.”

“That’s me.” Dean holds out a hand. “Welcome aboard.” Castiel takes a moment too long, as if he needs to figure out the mechanics of it, to shake Dean’s hand. “You headed to Deadwood? Or one of our stops in between?”

“I’m headed outward,” Castiel replies bluntly. “Deadwood is as good a place as any.”

“Ramblin’ man.” Dean grins. “You’ll fit right in.”

The guy’s expression does not change a bit. And he’s still got a grip on Dean’s hand. Dean extracts his fingers quickly. There’s a weird one in every crop of passengers. “Well, it won’t be the first stop, we’re delivering parts of this along the way.”

“Yes. You work in shipping.”

Among other things. “That we do.”

“If I may supplement my fare with work, I’d appreciate the opportunity to travel farther.”

“Well, we’ll see if we’re short-staffed.” Complications, sweet Serenity, why him? “Deadwood’s probably not the best place to get off unless you got business there, anyway. We can loop around, drop you a bit closer to civilization.” Castiel hasn’t once broken eye contact, his gaze almost unnervingly direct, but Dean’s never been one to back down from a challenge, and damn this guy’s eyes are really blue. For all the cluelessness, they seem to look right through Dean’s.

The thought has him turning away. No one’s got any business seeing what’s in there.        

He raises his voice to proper captain-to-crew levels. “You’ve all met our engineer,” he dodges Charlie’s arm as it shoots into the air and gives everyone a wave, “and our pilot. Our renter has a shuttle to himself but you might meet him at mealtimes.” Dean glances over his shoulder. “The bear there’s Benny, my first mate.” Benny looks up and flips him a wry salute. He gets how Dean works with affection. “And that’s Meg.” Meg knocks the last lash into place with the butt of her gun.

“What is she?”

Meg straightens, flicking dark curls out of her face, to stare Castiel down, arms crossed, hip out, two holsters and four sheaths and a still-drawn sidearm prominently on display, and when she says “she’s right here,” any normal human’s life would be flashing before their eyes. She is, Dean knows, very good at her job. He just wishes she’d obey the order not to target the innocent, especially the paying ones.

Castiel is utterly unaffected, right down to the frown of concentration. Dean wonders if it’s his default expression, or if he's just paying that much attention to every detail. “What’s your role in the crew?” he clarifies.

Meg cocks an eyebrow and holsters her gun. “Public relations.”

Benny snorts, and Charlie laughs, and ok Dean chuckles a bit, but Benny’s closest so he gets Meg’s elbow in the ribs.

“Ok, Charlie, stations.” She hops to and he hits the comm. “Jo, close her up. We’re up and out.” He turns to his passengers—well, passengers, runaway, and rescue mission. “If you folks’d head on back to your cabins, the common-areas-only rule takes effect now. Give us twenty minutes to break atmo and get on course and we’ll give you the tour.” He ushers them back through the common area door, squeezes Kevin’s shoulder on the way through. Kevin doesn’t acknowledge it, but Dean’s sure Castiel’s blue-laser eyes catch it. He hurries to pull the door to.

The ship rumbles, grumbles, thrums to life around him as he does a compulsive last-minute check, sweeping his gaze around the cargo bay and running his hands along the nearest part of his ship. Meg and Benny disappear up the stairs to the bridge; Benny ever the gentleman, Meg ever complaining of being allowed to go first for reasons other than fear of having one’s back to her. And then he’s alone in the bay. Just him and his baby and a stack of crates Bobby’d contrived for himself and several friends to need immediately, nonexistent God bless him. A moment of weightlessness; then the lurch and swoop of takeoff welcomes him home.

Dean lets out all the breath in his body and lets it take with it some of the tension knotting his shoulders.

Some, but never all. He heads straight for the unoccupied shuttle to go check on Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> So here goes my first foray into fanfic. Many thanks to [ Sundapple](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundapple/pseuds/Sundapple) for the beta, and to [ SecondSecret](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SecondSecret/pseuds/SecondSecret) for her edits and the existence of this universe. (You see that plot there? No? Not yet? Well, when you eventually catch sight of any, it's probably hers.)
> 
> This is set firmly in the Firefly 'verse, minus the existence of the Firefly cast, so it's all humans all around. It's a bit later, though; the Unification War's about a decade in the past.
> 
> Series title from _Serenity_ , because I think it's fairly appropriate in its many different forms to this group of characters.  
> Story title from The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, that poem about the albatross that Mal has in fact read, Inara, try not to faint.


End file.
